


It Was Only Just A Dream

by kissesfromkrug



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst and Feels, Kisses, Long-Distance, M/M, Tears, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-10 05:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissesfromkrug/pseuds/kissesfromkrug
Summary: Connor's always been there for him. Dylan's never considered a life without his best friend.





	It Was Only Just A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Not for profit, fictional; feel free to point out any typos. :)
> 
> Everything I write seems to exponentially multiply itself until it’s 8 times larger than I intended it to be, but O Whale. I have a knack for extreme elongation and exaggeration.
> 
> Title from "Just a Dream" by Nelly that I just rediscovered and - AH !
> 
> Mighty feels happened here.
> 
> Slight warning for mild anxiety attacks.

It's always been a given for Dylan. Connor will be there, no matter how many miles - or inches - separate them. Dylan knows when he's found a friend to keep; always has had a sense of who to trust and who to leave behind. The moment he walked into that Erie locker room and Connor looked up at him, dirty blond hair already a mess and helmet dangling off his meticulously wrapped stick, he knew.

Connor awkwardly offered to take him to lunch with a few of the guys after that first practice, and everything unfolded from there.

It became a tradition for the two of them to eat lunch with Connor's billets, spaghetti and meatballs or steak and salad. Dylan wasn't sure if all the curious glances at him were noticed by Connor, but if he did, they were silently dismissed.

They fell asleep on the phone with each other more nights than not, Connor talking about how yet another girl tried to get all up on him on his Instagram, or how NHL scouts had already begun to lurk in the upper decks of the Insurance Arena. 

When he wasn't stressing over friends or reporters - people in general, really - or math class, Connor listened quietly to Dylan's own rants about his missed shootout goal, or how the ache of a bruise on his side simply couldn't be dulled, or how his mother didn't stop bugging him about eating more greens.

Dylan didn't realize until January that he could go on for hours with hardly any interruptions. He didn't realize how much he liked it that Connor cared until he tried to talk to Ryan about his girl problems and Ryan laughed for five whole minutes.

Connor is the best listener.

* * *

They lost in the third round of the playoffs to Guelph. Connor looked about to cry the second he climbed in Dylan's car to head home. He probably did cry, silently.

*

Dylan had discovered how good Connor was at his soundless crying one night when he slept over. It was the one and only time Connor had ever had a girlfriend, to Dylan's knowledge. April was her name, confident and red-haired and beautiful. She broke up with him over an Instagram DM, of all things. She never talked to him after that. 

Dylan had held Connor until he fell asleep, the tears still staining his face and dripping onto the pillowcase, little hiccups every few moments being the remnants of sobs he'd so cleverly disguised.

When they woke, Connor had his hands fisted in the front of Dylan's damp t-shirt, body scrunched into a ball with Dylan's chin on the top of his head. He patted Dylan's chest, rolled off the bed, and immediately burst into inaudible tears.

Connor's billet mother came in to find them on the floor, Connor in Dylan's lap, face buried in his shoulder. Dylan gave her a sad look, and she backed out silently.

Dylan never again wants to see Connor so distraught in his life. Hopes he'll never be so broken, either.

*

Dylan opened his mouth to speak as he drove, hands flexing on the steering wheel.

"I don't wanna talk about it," Connor mumbled before he could say a word.

"Wasn't gonna." Connor stared at Dylan from where he'd curled up against the window, rain pattering softly against it. "What donut do you want?"

Connor furrowed his eyebrows until Dylan looked pointedly over at him. "Oh, you're serious," Connor said, and Dylan snorted.

"Uh, yeah. I was gonna get one to share, but I'm letting you pick since you don't like anything I get."

"I do," Connor protested, "You just have the worst taste."

"This is what I meant," Dylan sighed, clicking his tongue, then laughing as Connor sputtered and straightened himself.

"Chocolate with chocolate sprinkles," Connor said as they pulled up to the drive-thru.

"But you-"

"Get it," Connor interrupted, reaching down for his wallet. "I'll pay."

"No, I-" Dylan tried, but it was no use.

"You got two points. I didn't. I'll pay."

Dylan sighed and ordered, grudgingly giving the woman Connor's money. "You really didn't have to do that," Dylan said after handing over the bag.

Connor shrugged. "For all you do for me."

"All my assists?" Dylan grinned. "I'm worth a donut?"

"No, that's not-" Connor's response was drowned out by Dylan's laugh. "Oh my god."

"You love it," Dylan said gleefully, "You love me, you know you do."

Connor just rolled his eyes and tore the donut in half with his long, lithe fingers, one piece slightly larger than the other.

Dylan looked down at a stoplight as Connor passed one half to him - the bigger piece. Dylan opened his mouth to question it, but Connor just turned up the radio and smiled his too-big, too-adorable smile that never failed to make Dylan's heart melt like a snowman in July.

Connor is the best sharer.

* * *

Dylan spent more time that summer at Connor's house than he did at his own. Connor looked as bright as the sun when he noticed his family slowly adopting Dylan, and he began to show off Dylan like a prized trophy whenever they went places and met new people. Maybe more like a trophy wife.

Trophy best friend? Then again, Connor didn't have to do a single thing to get Dylan to be his Best Bud except be himself. Connor could have announced that he's quitting hockey and marrying an American from Florida, and Dylan still would've followed him till he died.

He'd follow Connor anywhere, really. It's scary to think about the lengths Dylan would go to in order to stay with his best friend. Connor was an amazing captain - even though he'd never won the Mem Cup, Dylan couldn't imagine a more qualified guy to lead the team - and an amazing friend - Connor had never once let Dylan down.

Not to mention Dylan's massively inconvenient crush - the guy was fucking incredible, okay? He skated faster, had softer hands, and made better plays than Dylan - or anyone else - had ever seen - and he did all of it at the same time. Dylan had a right to be star struck.

Objectively, Dylan had tried to convince himself, Connor wasn't the hottest guy he'd ever met. He tried to make himself believe that his Thing for Connor was merely a hockey reverence.

His self-convincing attempts fell miles flat.

When he saw Connor fall onto the ground in celebration during a ball hockey game at the Strome household, Dylan subconsciously made sure to remember every last detail of information he could grasp.

Connor's golden hair was a halo around his head from the sun, face red and blotchy from exertion, arms spread wide to welcome his teammates into a hug, chest heaving under his faded Otters t-shirt, long legs spread wide, the way the blue sky looked clearer than Dylan had ever seen, the imprint Connor's body left in the grass-

Dylan won't soon forget the green of the grass that day. It was the exact shade of Connor's eyes - not too vibrant, but still glowing with life and joy. It was the perfect shade of Connor.

He's always been screwed for the world's Hockey Jesus.

* * *

It was the night before Round 1 of the draft when it first happened.

Connor had found his way to Dylan's room, letting Dylan clutch him to his chest just like they'd done all those months ago. Connor was shaking, arms wrapped around Dylan like a vise as Dylan murmured soft, sweet nothings into his hair.

"You're the best, you're the best," he whispered, rubbing Connor's back in slow circles.

"I know," Connor had gasped, and it wasn't cocky in the least. He knew where he was going, and he knew exactly why.

"The best friend," Dylan clarified. "The best friend I could ever have - that _anyone_ could ever have. I'm just lucky you chose me." Connor just shivered and smushed his nose deeper into Dylan's collarbone. "I don't know what I'm gonna do without you, bud."

"Amazing," Connor answered. Dylan didn't reply, and Connor looked up at him through his long eyelashes. "You're gonna be amazing," he said, gaining a bit of confidence. "You don't need me to be it."

"I'll always need you, Davo," Dylan said, shifting his arm and stroking a hand through Connor's hair. Connor's eyes fluttered shut, and in that moment, with the light that shone in from the slowly slowing down town casting shadows over his worried face, Connor looked angelic. "No matter what. I'll always need you."

"Promise you won't leave?" Connor asked, lips parting as he took in shuddering breaths. "Promise you'll stay close?"

" _Always,"_ Dylan swore, a promise he vowed he would never break. _Could_ never, even.

Connor's warm breath ghosted across Dylan's face like a comforting brush of a moth's wing as he smiled, and Dylan felt a rush of affection so strong he couldn't help but voice exactly what came to mind.

"You're so fucking beautiful, Davo."

Connor stayed quiet and still, lips curling up in a tiny smile as he pressed his large hand to Dylan's chest. Dylan's heart rate quickened, and he felt a sudden rush of panic. Did Connor not hear him? Did he say it wrong? Did he take it the "just bros" way?

"Connor," Dylan said. Connor _had_ to know. His voice shook uncontrollably as he murmured, "I'm in - I want to do _everything_ with you."

Connor's eyes flicked open, and Dylan's heart immediately dropped at the stunned look in them. _Fuck_. He pulled away from Dylan, staring at him in confusion. Dylan nearly cried inside when he realized that no matter how Connor looked or where they were, he was still the best thing Dylan had ever seen.

"Dylan," Connor whispered, and Dylan slid off the bed.

"I'm so sorry," he said, wringing his hands and looking around the black room. "I'm so-"

Connor's eyes sparkled in the darkness as he repeated, in the gentlest and most reverent of voices, "Dylan." The edges of his form looked blurry from Dylan's position in the center of the room. Soft. Comforting. Unattainable.

"I'm sorry, that was shitty of me, this is the worst time-" Dylan couldn't even finish his sentence.

" _Dylan_ ," Connor breathed yet again, full of simultaneous shock and wonder. Dylan could literally see him glowing. "Don't go."

"I have to, I need-" Dylan felt himself slowly slipping out of control. "Fuck, I - I need to get out of here." He turned tail and fled, leaving behind Connor's soft hair, soft hands, soft voice, soft eyes, soft skin. Dylan was too full of sharp edges to get close to him.

Connor - too perfect.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dylan whipped his head up to see Jack standing in pajamas in front of his door, both eyebrows raised as he took in Dylan's frazzled appearance. 

"Nothing." Dylan's voice was uncomfortably high as he continued, "Just - going on a walk."

"Might need some footwear for that, squeaky," Jack said, eyeing Dylan's socked feet before sticking his keycard in the slot and slipping inside with a smooth grace Dylan hadn't known he'd had.

Dylan took off down the hallway in quick but silent strides, jabbing the up button for the elevator the second he reached it. He only lasted a few impatient seconds before he flung open the door to the stairwell and headed up. He needed to escape that room, escape Connor and every stupid thing Dylan had said to him, those few words that changed their whole friendship, he just needed -

space.

On the top floor, there was a tiny, unused office space in the corner with the door cracked a sliver. Dylan slunk inside and softly shut the door with his foot, keeping the lights off and collapsing in one of the chairs that faced the glass wall. The view was the same as from their room; all the palm trees, streetlights, and dark buildings just a little farther down than before.

And yet. All was different.

Why did he have to tell Connor? Connor didn't have to know. He ruined all they'd built together with one simple sentence. There's no way Connor didn't know exactly what Dylan meant. He always knew.

He could always decode Dylan's confusing answers, see beyond his vague replies, especially when asked the question "what's wrong?". Connor _knew_ Dylan, knew him more than Dylan probably knew his own self.

But this - no. Connor could never have guessed this.

Dylan let his eyes slide shut as he rubbed the armrest of the chair, trying to regulate his uneven breathing. His heart still raced like a stallion that knew it could never win but worked its ass off anyway. Dylan knew that no matter how hard he worked, he'd never be anything like Connor. He could already hear the voices in his head.

"Stromer." Dylan jumped as the door clicked shut behind Connor.

"Connor, no-" Dylan stood up quickly, head spinning as Connor took a step towards him. "You can't-"

"You can't just say things like that and _leave_ ," Connor interrupted, sounding more hurt than anything. Dylan shrunk back an inch. He _hated_ that Connor voice.

He looked back to the leather chair as Connor added sadly, "I didn't finish." Dylan slumped back down into the chair and buried his face in his hands.

He knew what Connor was going to say.

"Why didn't you let me finish?" Connor asked softly, kneeling by Dylan's side.

 _Because I wanted to keep my heart in one piece,_ Dylan wanted to say. _I didn't want you to think I meant it, to believe it. I didn't want all our amazing years of being together to end like this, here and now, the night before the biggest day of our lives. If I never get to see you again, some dumbass comment I made without thinking straight isn't what I want you to remember me for._

Dylan said none of that. He said nothing at all, even when Connor's hand fell to rest on his knee, rubbing at the inner part of the bone. "Dylan. Please." His voice grew pleading as Dylan lowered his shaking hands to his lap. "Dyls, please, answer me."

Dylan kept his eyes shut tight and his body as still as he could. He couldn't tell Connor one more thing. He couldn't open his mouth for fear of letting the tears past the dams he'd set up to stop them.

" _Dylan_. Talk to me, please," Connor whispered worriedly, hand gripping his knee tighter. "Please don't do this, you have to explain."

"What is there to explain?" Dylan finally croaked, tilting his head towards the ceiling. "There's nothing."

"Dylan."

"Connor, please!" The tears dripped down Dylan's cheeks, and soft pads of fingers brushed them away. "Please stop." He clutched onto Connor's wrist, his eyes snapping open to watch Connor's expression crumble.

"I want everything with you, too."

Dylan's breath caught in his throat, and he slowly released Connor's wrist and rubbed at his eyes. Dylan's heart has spent years agonizing over this to find that the feelings are actually reciprocated? Impossible.

"You can't mean that," he said raspily, not nearly as good as Connor at silencing his soft cries.

"Why not?" Connor asked, soft and hopeful, hands reaching out and gingerly holding one of Dylan's between them. "Why can't I want you back?"

Dylan laughed a bit bitterly. "You're just so - I don't know," he tried. "You're just - _you_. You can't possibly want-" He swallowed hard. "-me, like that."

"Don't tell me what I can and can't want," Connor said in reply, firm and proud, rocking forward from where he'd been sitting on his heels. "If I've stuck with you for this long, I can stand sticking with you for the rest of our lives."

Holy shit.

"Connor." Connor stopped and looked up at Dylan. "Just-" Dylan barely resisted the urge to reach forward and run his thumb along Connor's full lower lip, mouth pink and inviting as he stared at Dylan. Dylan exhaled all in a rush, and Connor pushed himself closer until no space remained between them.

"Can I kiss you?" He breathed, one hand coming up to cup Dylan's jaw as their lips barely brushed. Dylan wrapped his left hand around the back of Connor's neck and connected their mouths in a split second decision, and Connor's free hand automatically moved up to hold his other cheek.

Dylan's right hand rested on Connor's shoulder, running up and down his arm as if he couldn't believe that Connor was real. Connor's lips were slightly chapped, but his mouth was warm and wet and absolutely perfect. It was everything Dylan had dreamed of.

Before that moment, he never believed he'd have it.

"Dyls," Connor sighed when he pulled away an inch, foreheads still pressed together.

"I want," Dylan replied simply, kissing him again, with more fervor and desire than he'd ever bothered to kiss anyone. Connor let out a faint gasp as Dylan's tongue slid over his lower lip, but he pushed no further, feeling Connor sink into his slow, deep rhythm.

Neither of them knew how far away they'd be come the next morning, but all Dylan cared about was that he'd gotten that one moment; one kiss from his best friend, his forever love that he'd remember until the day he died.

* * *

Dylan went to Arizona. Connor went to Edmonton.

Dylan didn't make the NHL. To absolutely no one's surprise, Connor did.

Neither of them talked about the kiss again, despite the fact that they called or Skyped each other every three days. Dylan saw the rough days Connor had to endure and how he took them all in stride in the public eye, yet broke down the second he was alone with Dylan.

Dylan missed Connor like his heart would miss its beat.

The rare day that Edmonton ventured east and Erie was at home, Dylan called Connor for the first time in three weeks. They never used to go more than five days without calling.

"Connor."

"Been a while, Dylan," Connor sighed when he picked up. Dylan knew the exhaustion wasn't from him. Not entirely, at least.

Connor always seemed tired, whether from being called the Next One and dealing with the heaping amount of expectations, or from all the publicity and criticism, or from all the games and practices and traveling his new team did.

The Oilers never rode buses like Dylan still did.

"I know," Dylan said, wanting to get straight to the point. "I missed you, Davo. I'm coming over, what's the name of your hotel?"

"I'll send the address." Connor paused. "Wait, now?"

"Why not?" Dylan asked, chewing on his lip. Connor had never once refused an offer to hang out.

"No no, just - wondering," Connor said in a lower voice. "See you soon - Dyls."

Connor's a mere 94 miles away instead of the usual 2,083, so sue Dylan for having sped a little from excitement. He hadn't seen his best friend in months - almost a year now - and they're finally within driving distance.

"Connor," Dylan said softly when Connor opened the door, barely a second after he'd knocked. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth as he waited for Connor to reply, holding himself back from lunging forward and tackling Connor like he so desperately wanted to.

Connor just tugged on Dylan's hand, drew him into the room, and backed him into the wall while clutching him in the tightest hug imaginable.

"God, I've missed you," Connor said as Dylan held him just as close, in awe of his broadened shoulders, thicker arms, and even better-looking, perfectly curved ass.

No. They didn't talk about such things anymore. Connor hadn't once mentioned their late-night pre-draft confessions, so Dylan had done his best to put them out of his mind.

As if he could forget anything about Connor.

"I've missed you too," Dylan mumbled into his collarbone, and Connor stiffened for the quickest of moments. "Oh - sorry." He tried to pull back, but Connor had to give him one last squeeze around the middle.

"It's okay." Connor's eyes bored into Dylan's, filled with sadness and regret. "It's healed now." Dylan breathed out a long, heartfelt sigh and rubbed his thumb over the mark.

He'd talked with Connor for three hours the night of the final diagnosis. He'd never seen Connor cry like that in his life. It was - agonizing to watch. Connor looked utterly lost and defeated, truly broken, as if he'd ruined his life and his entire career by a complete accident. He blamed everything on himself, as if his entire team's misfortunes would only grow exponentially worse without him-

"Are you?"

Dylan's head shot up, hand freezing on Connor's shoulder. Connor set his hand over it, holding their eye contact. "I am?" Dylan answered, yet it came out as a question. "I am."

"Dyls," Connor said, finally looking away. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be."

"They say you're nothing without me and that's a fucking lie," Connor burst out. That is - not what Dylan was thinking of. "They're idiots who don't recognize true talent."

"It's true," Dylan whispered honestly, "I'm nothing without you." He stared at Connor until the words processed.

"Dylan William Strome, I swear to-"

"Sit down, geez, don't be my mother all over again," Dylan interrupted with a small laugh, moving to lay down on what he hoped was Connor's bed. "I didn't mean in hockey."

"Then what?" Connor's voice was small, lacking all the confidence he'd built up over the years, so far from the "captain voice" Dylan had long grown used to. "Why are you nothing without me?"

 _I'm empty,_ Dylan wanted to say. _I love you more than I love anything and I can't stand to be so far away from you. I thought distance might help me cope if nothing else, but I only find it harder to move on. I shouldn't feel so much for someone I hardly ever see. I shouldn't feel this way for someone who I can never be like, someone who can never love me the way I need._

"I don't live five minutes from my best friend anymore," is what Dylan said instead. "I miss you a whole fucking lot. I wish - I wish you were with me. I always do."

Instead of relaxing like Dylan had expected, Connor stiffened a bit. "I've missed you too," he said nonetheless.

Dylan definitely missed something big.

"And-" He swallowed hard. "And-" _I love you_.

"And?" Connor arched an eyebrow, hesitantly taking a spot on the bed next to Dylan's legs.

"I just wanted you to know-" _how much I love you and need you_. Dylan squeezed his eyes shut, throwing an arm over his face. "Sorry, I just-"

Connor gave no reply. Dylan didn't expect one. He'd given absolutely nothing away.

There was a soft graze of lips on his, then two hands on either side of his ears, then knees pressing against the outsides of his hips. Dylan didn't dare open his eyes for fear of popping the bubble.

He reached up and laced his arms around Connor's neck, holding him close as he kissed Dylan for the second time, not letting an inch of space go to waste as he settled himself over Dylan's body. Connor slowly licked his way inside, tongue sliding hot and slick against Dylan's as he rocked down into him.

"Please," Connor panted, "Don't ever leave."

"I won't, I won't, I promise," Dylan gasped as Connor moved down to bite a deep bruise into his collarbone, in the exact same place as the surgery scar. He licked and nipped and sucked until Dylan was breathing as hard as he would on a double penalty kill shift, moaning when Connor would press his hips down into Dylan's. "Never leave."

"No," Connor agreed, moving back up to his mouth. "Never."

* * *

All they exchanged were kisses, and not a word was spoken about them until the summer. It came early for Connor, the Oilers finishing close to last, while Dylan's Otters made it to the third round before being blanked by the Knights.

Mitch gave him an especially long and tight hug, promising to go out for drinks as soon as he could. Dylan nodded, angry tears in his eyes and hollowness in his heart as he moved down the handshake line. He'd failed his team yet again - this time, as captain.

"He talks about you a lot, you know," Mitch said three weeks later over a beer in a Toronto bar. "Like, all the time."

"I know," Dylan confirmed. He knew - obviously.

He watched every one of Connor's interviews that he could find and shivered every time Connor said his name. He got a wistful look on his face and a fierce passion in his eyes, something that Dylan had felt he himself had lost after their four-game defeat.

"No, like, on the phone," Mitch said, wiggling his hand by his ear. "Every time he calls me it's 'Dylan this, Dylan that, did you see Dylan's goal', blah blah blah, maybe the occasional 'Hallsy is insane, someone save me' report."

Dylan hardly talked to Connor anymore, phone calls dropping to two or three a month. He wondered why Mitch had become the go-to friend when it was Dylan that had been there through so much of Connor's early growing life. Connor had said he never wanted Dylan to leave...but he never mentioned anything about his own retraction.

"He's kinda crazy about you," Mitch went on, tilting his bottle at Dylan and eyeing the empty shot glass in his hand.

"Yeah?"

"Insane," Mitch confirmed, downing another sip. "You want another?" He waited a half a second for an answer. "You need another." Dylan sat in silence until Mitch spoke again. "You doing okay? Want me to stop talking about Davo?"

A long pause.

"No," Dylan choked out as the new glass was set in front of him. "Tell me everything." Mitch raised an eyebrow, Dylan's fingers wrapping around the new shot until his knuckles turned white. "Please. I never - hear about him anymore."

"Don't you guys Skype, like, twice a week?" Mitch asked, and Dylan inhaled sharply. "No?"

"Talk," Dylan forced out painfully. Mitch talked.

Mitch talked and talked until Dylan was sitting in the bar, eyes dripping salty tears onto his lap. He wrapped an arm around Dylan's shoulders, guiding him to the car and back to his own home. Mitch's ever-loving mother offered him the spare room, and Dylan silently cried himself to sleep once Mitch had deemed him fit to be alone.

Dylan was slowly learning how Connor could be so emotionally cut off, so silent about his true feelings that even the best psychologists would find it difficult to pry his layers apart.

* * *

Dylan didn't talk much over the following weeks, zoning out of all hockey thoughts and focusing on helping his mother at home. They lived a simpler life, what with Matty still running around the house and Ryan not helping with much of anything at all.

Mitch would come by every now and again (once or twice a week), invite himself in for dinner, convince Dylan's mother to steal him for the night, and talk with Dylan till all hours of the night about anything he could think of. He'd always bring up their possible futures, and in those moments, Dylan's mind went straight to Connor, both of them wearing the same jersey as they lifted the Cup above their heads.

He never confessed an iota of his dream to Mitch no matter how hard he pried. Every few moments while they lingered on the topic, while Mitch talked, he would study Dylan’s misty eyes and forlorn expression. He'd never ask about them, though. Emotions like those were things beyond Mitch's capabilities of "Dylan things I should help him deal with".

Dylan never minded their conversations - who _knows_ how he grew to find Mitch a friend after their years as rivals - yet he always felt a hole whenever Mitch would mention Connor, as if Connor was supposed to be there between them.

 _Connor was always supposed to be there,_ Dylan thought to himself one night as Mitch snored softly in the bunk bed below him. _I promised my everything for him - why did he never promise it back?_

* * *

The day Connor came home was the day Dylan refused to leave his house. Mitch called every two minutes for an hour straight before giving up telecommunicating and knocking on his door in true Mitch fashion.

Dylan sat on his bed as he kept rereading Connor's text, over and over and over again as he ignored Mitch. 

_C: finally back home!! :) wanna have coffee w me today?_

Oh my fucking _God_ , yes, Dylan wanted to see his best friend again. But holy _shit_ , did he not want to see the love of his life that he'd kissed in two different hotel rooms. He'd been trying for months, ever since the first kiss, to block romantic feelings out of his head completely. Dylan knew that if he allowed any at all, they'd point him straight back to Connor.

Mitch never helped with his diversion tactics.

_D: no thnx, not feeling well_

_C: :((( </3_

_C: tmrw? if ur feeling better :)_

_D: idk_

_C: ?? :((_

Dylan didn't respond, sighing and closing out of his messages.

"Dylan Fucking Strome!" A faint voice yelled from outside, and Dylan wanted to die. "Let me in or I swear to god, I'll lock you in a closet with Davo and a tarantula for three hours!"

"Fuck off," Dylan called back.

"I _will_ throw a tarantula at you!"

Dylan huffed, slinking down the stairs and unlocking the front door. Spiders were a no-go.

"I knew that would work," Mitch chirped happily, pushing past Dylan and into the living room. Dylan just shook his head and went to shut the door, but it stopped halfway there.

"Sorry," Connor mumbled, swiftly moving past Dylan with eyes focused anywhere but him. Mitch pointed Connor to the living room as if he lived there, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at Dylan. Dylan flipped him off, shut the door a little harder than usual, and sat on the opposite end of the couch from Connor. 

Connor seemed to sense the tension and stayed as still as a statue as Mitch plopped between them.

"So," Dylan said gruffly, "What random meaningless thing do you have planned for today?"

"Friend bonding," Mitch said, almost _gleefully_ , as if Dylan's suffering was something to laugh at.

"So I can leave now?" Dylan asked, and he could hear Connor's sharp inhale even over Mitch's obnoxious snort.

"Shut up, this is a multi-person adventure I planned for today."

"Marty's probably roaming the neighborhood looking for something to do, why don't you go find him?" Dylan snapped, leaning as far from Mitch as he possibly could. "Or my mom? You know she loves you. Maybe-"

"Would you kindly shut the fuck up?" Mitch said, shaking his head in mock disapproval. "Multi-person as in two-person; two-person as in you and Davo." Dylan rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, determined to make the experience as awful as possible for as much time as possible.

"We really should, um, talk about it,” Connor said quietly, and Dylan snorted.

"There’s nothing to talk about.”

”You’re a fucking idiot,” Mitch said genially before getting up and leaving Dylan burning holes in the floor with his gaze. Mitch reappeared in the doorway mere seconds after he’d left, tossing a fairly small box at Dylan. “Open it after.”

”What the fuck is this?” Dylan scoffed, turning the box over in his hands. He glanced up at Connor, who’d seemingly shrunk two sizes as he fiddled with his hands and bent his knees in order to bring them closer to himself.

”Open it later,” Connor mumbled, picking at a thread in his ripped skinny jeans.

”What is it?” Connor leveled him with a look of simultaneous sorrow, hurt, and frustration, a look that Dylan didn’t even know was possible. “Fine, whatever, I’ll open it later,” Dylan sighed, tossing the box onto the nearby chair.

Connor bit his lip to hold back from a remark, waiting several seconds before speaking. “So, uh. I didn’t really, you know-”

”Make any attempts to talk to me?” Dylan interrupted, and Connor looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “Call me when you got back on the ice? Remember my birthday? Ask how I was coping with all my shit and Mitch’s _and_ some of yours? Yeah, I know.”

”I’m so sorry I never tried, Dyls,” Connor tried, keeping level eye contact with the tv stand. “I was a shitty friend and I just wanted to-”

”Damn straight.”

Connor huffed out an annoyed breath. “We’re not,” he said after a long pause. “Neither of us.”

”Not what?” Dylan asked, heart rate quickening, about 95% sure he knows what Connor means. “What aren’t we? Best friends? ‘Cause it sure seems that way.”

”You had a part in it too, you could’ve called me whenever,” Connor countered. “I’m not the only one that should be putting effort into this.”

”Effort?” Dylan demanded, turning to better face him. “I saw no fucking effort at all, Connor, so why should I try if our friendship obviously doesn’t matter to you?”

”You think-” Connor stopped short as Dylan’s words clicked in his head. His face went white as a ghost as his mouth snapped shut, shoulders slumping to further increase the illusion of smallness as he curled up against the arm of the couch.

He tried to speak, but no words would escape his tightened throat. His eyes were half-lidded and glassy, and Dylan felt a sick sense of satisfaction at his pain. Dylan had suffered for so long; it’s about time someone else shared that load.

It’s so different than any other time Connor’s been like this.

”Yeah, ‘I think’,” Dylan replied when he realized Connor wasn’t about to say anything any time soon. “Wanna make an educated guess as to why?”

”What the hell, Dylan?” Connor asked, and the fragility of his voice made Dylan’s heart crack a little despite himself. “You thought I didn’t care?”

”Present tense,” Dylan corrected. “Think. Don’t. Get it right.”

”Stromer, what the fuck?!” Dylan raised his eyebrows at Connor’s pained exclamation. He sounded like his heart was slowly being ripped from his chest as he continued, “There’s nothing - _nothing_ \- I care about more in this world than you. Not even hockey.”

”You didn’t voluntarily choose to leave hockey on read for a month,” Dylan said, carefully choosing his words.

”When I was out for all those weeks, I didn’t stop wanting to play hockey,” Connor said, voice quavering dangerously close to tears. “I didn’t stop loving it. Just like I’ve never stopped loving you no matter what I’ve done.”

”You had the choice!” Dylan exclaimed, moving as far back from Connor as possible. “You didn’t choose to break your collarbone, but you chose to cut me out of your life ‘cause I wasn’t good enough for you! And I know I’m still not and you know I’m not, so I don’t know why you’re even bothering-”

”Shut the fuck up,” Connor breathed, the most gentle utterance of those words Dylan had ever heard. He looked over to Dylan with a sudden burst of determination on his face. “I’m fucking in love with you, alright? Would you just - shut up already?”

”What-” Dylan started, already forming a defense mechanism in his head, but he was cut off by Connor stretching out and moving to within inches of him.

”Shut up,” Connor said, hands still a little shaky. “Shut up, I love you.” Dylan just slumped back against the cushions as Connor straddled his lap, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “I love you so fucking much.”

”Then why did you leave?” Dylan asked, and this time it’s him with the tiny, worried voice as he met Connor’s eyes.

”I was scared.” Connor leaned his forehead on Dylan’s shoulder as he let out a long, wobbly sigh. “It’s the worst thing I could’ve ever done, I was being ridiculously stupid, but I didn’t know what was happening. I thought that...that if I left it alone it would go away.”

”You don’t want it?”

”No, God, no, that’s not-” It almost looked like Connor’s heart was beating inside Dylan with the way he looked at Dylan. “No, Dyls, I just - I wanted to know if it was real.”

”Is it?” Dylan asked, almost hesitant to learn the answer. He lifted his arms from his sides and reached out for Connor, who immediately grasped onto his hands and squeezed.

”The realest thing I’ve ever known.”

“That was still such a shitty thing of you,” Dylan said after a long beat of silence, and Connor nodded into the curve of his shoulder. “And you won’t ever fucking do it again.” Connor shook his head energetically, soft hair tickling Dylan’s neck. “But I love you too. I - for a long fucking time.”

Connor slowly pulled his head back to meet Dylan’s eyes. _Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry_ , Dylan thought to himself as Connor smiled beautifully at him. So, so beautiful.

“Does - does that mean you’ll accept my gift now?” Connor asked hopefully, nodding towards the box on the chair. Dylan made a soft noise of assent and tugged one hand free.

”If you’ll accept mine,” Dylan whispered, tenderly cupping Connor’s jaw in his palm and tilting his head to the perfect angle for a kiss. Connor’s hands slipped down to Dylan’s waist, and despite all their long limbs being a little cramped on the edge of the couch, Dylan regrouped his list of Greatest Moments Ever and put that moment right at number 1.

* * *

”You didn’t,” Dylan smiled, lips red and kiss-swollen as he unwrapped the recognizable shape. He bit the inside of his cheek as he read the tape on the outside of the puck, struggling to keep himself from yelling in excitement.

”Yeah, I did,” Connor answered a bit shyly. Dylan leaned over to knock noses with him, nudging him into another soft kiss.

”You’re the best.”

”I know.”

Dylan laughed and set down the puck from Connor’s first NHL goal, enveloping Connor in his arms and kissing him over and over until Mitch came in and yelled obnoxiously.

”It worked!” He beamed, and Dylan reached around Connor to throw the empty box at him.

”Fuck off,” Connor added good-naturedly, but Mitch only whistled happily to himself as he whipped out his phone and strode away.

Dylan laughed at his retreating form, and suddenly, when he met Connor’s eyes, he knew they would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. He couldn’t explain how, or what specifically it was about this eyes, but he just knew. Connor and Dylan could take on the world together.

Connor is the fucking _Best_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if there are mistakes because typing on mobile is frustrating and typos are embarrassing.
> 
> //
> 
> I just picture Connor as the fish. Don't ask.
> 
> https://instagram.com/p/BcXTCMzAFe1/


End file.
